


Torturous: An Anthology

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cannibalism, Dehydration, Isolation, Psychological Torture, Starvation, Torture, Water Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 16:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20548940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: These are explicitly written torture-based short stories. These are done in different styles, and are entirely researched. There are so many ways to torture people, there are thousands of methods that have been used over the thousands of years that humans have existed.Some are not necessarily explicit but. The warning exists.





	1. Chinese Water Torture

The dripping was agonizing. A steady, slow constant that, for awhile, had once acted as an anchor, was now being turned against him. Hours and hours of being strapped in this chair. Hands bounds to heavy wooden arms, secured in place by thick, long straps of leather. Fingers glued together. Ankles shackled with heavy chains, and even his midsection had been constrained.

He had wriggled for a long time, trying anything and everything, but he simply couldn't escape. He couldn't lean forward enough to escape the drips, and his teeth couldn't work through the tough bindings. His back ached. Everything hurt.

His bright, radioactive colored hair was flattened against his head from the water that dripped from some length above him. One drop every thirty seconds. An agonizing wait for the next plinking feeling against his skull. He couldn't escape it. He was drowning.

It had been four hours.

After five hours he began to feel his chest tighten. Were the droplets coming faster now? Was he being drenched in water? He couldn't tell. From the position of his head now, he watched each and every drop fall to splatter against his forehead. For awhile, this felt better, but then the same feeling pervaded him. Fear. The water would hollow him. They would release a torrent suddenly and he would die.

By hour six, he was trembling in his chair and thrashing about. Mumbled nonsense about drowning and being underwater and how his head was losing shape.

It took nine hours to put him to sobs, begging and pleading for an escape. His fingers had begun scratched at the wood in reach and the tips were bloody and mutilated, and one of his nails was missing. His mouth was bloody - he seemed to have bitten down on his own tongue, hard.

The drops stopped. Or maybe they didn't, he wasn't sure. They took him from the chair, the man dressed in ridiculous clothing and the gentleman in a suit. The former held him in place as he trembled, and forced him to look at the better dressed of the two, grasping the back of his neck to keep him from staring up, waiting another drop, waiting for the inevitable waterfall.

“Now. Tell me where to find Jack.”


	2. Isolation / Starvation / Dehydration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the method of extreme isolation, paired with eventual starvation and the efforts to which a person may betray their own sense of morality to stay alive.

Alone. Alone and alone and alone. One word, a constant word. A constant, the constant, the incessant reminder of aloneness in the cell he had alone. The cell he slept in, the cell he sat in, the cell he wept in. Weeping, heaving, flowing tears, uncontrollable after so long. Long. Long, long, halls and darkness and despair and fear. Fear of the dark. Dark is fear. Darkness is alone. Alone.

Alone in permanent night, so dark, so cold. Cold in his fingers. Fingers in cold, stiff hair. Hair unshaven, unclean, no showers. Showers. Shower in filth, shower in lies. Lie. Always lie, always pretend, don't tell truth. Truth can kill you, lies kill you, killed men, corpses, dead people in his cell, people who broke, people who lied and then told the truth. Truth kills, truth takes, truth leaves you alone.

Alone in the stench. Stench of dead bodies, of blood. Blood on his hands, blood of the boy he'd killed, who almost killed him. Boy, the face of the boy in shock, the sound of the gun clattering to the ground when he shot the boy. Shot, shot in the heart, blood pouring out. Pouring from veins, dark red coating over the bright red shirt in the bright red sun. So bright. A bright boy with a bright smile to light up darkness. Darkness. Haunting boy with a bright smile that haunted the darkness because he was dead. He wanted to be dead, because maybe then he wouldn't be alone.

Alone. Hadn't been alone at first, had other men bringing him food, had men take him water. Water on his head, water in his mouth. Mouth was dry, cracked and painful. Painful men, men who hit him, wanted information, wanted truth. Truth kills. As long as he doesn't speak truth, he stays alive. Alive and not well, but alive. The well with the water, the rushing water well leading to town. Town that can save him, town miles and miles away. Away from this place, away from the darkness. Men went away into the darkness, men who hurt him, men who left. Left him alone, all alone in the darkness that haunted him.

Alone with no food, alone with no water. Food got scarce after the men left. Men on the ground, dead men covered in flesh. Flesh like meat, flesh like fat. Meat was food, food meant life. Life, he needed to live. To live he needed to eat. He needed to eat the dead men covered in flesh like meat to live. Needed to live in the cold, haunted cell shrouded in darkness and leaving him alone.

Alone with the blood in his mouth. Mouth now wet, wet with iron and salt and dark red. Red sun peeking through a now-open door. The door that has always been shut, the door men used to come through. The men who used to hurt him, the men who made him hurt the men on the floor. The men who made him put the men on the floor into his mouth. The men who deserve to be attacked by his mouth. Attack the men entering the room because they will him in the cold, dark, haunted cell filled with bright light and no longer alone.

Dead men on the floor, covered in blood, his and theirs. Theirs on his mouth, in his hair. Sunlight touching his hair as he walks away, shuffling into the bright day filled with bright smiles and bright boys like the one he killed. Into the river, the bright blue river where the bright boy with bright hair and a bright smile that was diminished over time by the men who hurt him killed himself.

Where the bright boy drowned himself in the deep dark depths, all alone and with a thirst finally satiated.


End file.
